i am done with my graceless heart
by lydia martins
Summary: It's always about Annie. "I won't ever leave you, Annie. I'll stay with you forever, or as long as I can." / Finnick, Annie, and a moment on a beach. - — finnick/annie


**author's note:** This was written using the "Meadow Of Prompts" thread on Elsie's Fire Is Catching forum (go check it out!) from April 3rd with the prompts _one and only, midst, magical_, and the quote at the beginning. It is wholeheartedly dedicated to Sophie (_a cold day in december_) because she's an amazing writer and she compliments my writing and her reviews are awesome.

**disclaimer:** If I owned THG, Finnick would be alive; Gale would have ended up with Madge; and HaymitchMaysilee would be _so_ on. The title is from Florence + The Machine's _Shake it Out_.

* * *

x

**i am done with my graceless heart  
**finnick/annie

_"You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams." _  
— Dr Seuss

x

She's under the water for a long time — a very long time, even for Annie — and he's just starting to worry about her when, like a phoenix soaring through the ashes of the past, an ivory pale arm rises through the water, breaking the glassy surface of the cerulean waves with a loud cry. It is quickly followed by a familiar head of brown hair and the blue eyes that he's come to associate with the ocean and the quickening of his heart rate and love.

Finnick exhales a breath he didn't know he was holding — it's always like this, though, isn't it? Every time he has to visit his clients, he prays that Annie, his precious, insane, unsullied Annie with the bloodless hands, will remain safe.

Snow knows this as well — which is the only reason that Finnick even co-operates with him — if he wants something, all he has to do is threaten to harm Annie, it's always about Annie. She is his one and only, his everything, his reason for not just existing in this bleak and miserable world, but _living_ —

"Finn, come on, join me!" she says, her voice loud in the still of the waves. He smiles at her, running a hand through his bronze hair distractedly.

"I'll be there in a minute, Annie," he says. She smiles at him again — something so sweet and innocent and pure that it sends his heart pounding against his ribs and at the same time sends a jolt of ice-water through his body.

She is innocent; she hardly killed anyone during her Games — people usually forget that she was even a Career — but he is not. He is not by any means innocent. He is tainted by the Capitol and the good looks that he once held in such high esteem are now the bane of his existence. There is blood on his hands that no amount of swimming in the ocean can take away.

And really, he is no better than Brutus or Enobaria who embrace the Games with open arms. Sometimes, on Annie's worst days, when she can't even recognize him and she's screaming for her district partner, he holds her to his chest and just thinks that it would be easier if they were dead — the Capitol, with its machines and people painted like clowns, don't know that their perfect world isn't so perfect. He, too, didn't know it until he won the Games and President Snow took him for a chat. . .

He forcibly shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the Capitol's crude punishment — really, they didn't tell you this but twenty-_four_ people die during the Hunger Games. And the supposed Victor is usually the worst off. "Annie," he calls, "I'm coming in!" His shirt and shorts go off and he jumps into the water.

It feels like a thousand ice-cold needles are pricking his skin; there is the tangy taste of salt in his mouth; and he can't see two feet in front of him. _This_ is where he belongs — not in various Capitol women's (and men's) bedroom, not the large and lonely Victor's house, but here, on the water with the girl he loves. This is the best enjoyment he has — lungs aching for air, salt oozing into every pore on his skin; it, besides Annie, is his only salvation.

"Finn, finally," she says with a light laugh that gives Finnick hope of Annie. The Annie that he knew before the Hunger Games — the Annie before she won those twisted games and became like him — tainted. But she's not like him at all, a voice in the back of his mind calls, she's innocent and pure and he is stained with the stench of the Capitol. Annie grabs his hand and everything else — the Quarter Quell announcement that will take place tonight; the upcoming 75th Hunger Games, where they would, once again, have to mentor and, most likely, watch both their tributes die — is unimportant; when she clasps his hand, he forgets all about that. "You looked really busy there."

"I know — " he says with a slight grin, the kind that only Annie can coax out of him because even in the midst of stormy seas, Annie is his sunshine. "I'm sorry. I was thinking about the Games." The G-word slips from his lips and it only takes him a moment to realize his mistake. "Annie . . . ?"

But Annie doesn't answer and her face goes slack and she's screaming, "_NO — RUN! FINNICK, HELP ME, SAVE ME!" _And he would do anything — be with anyone, if that could help Annie, but it can't so all he can do is try and comfort her. "_FINNICK, PLEASE. FINNICK, HELP — _"

"I'm okay, Annie. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." He repeats this over and over again like a mantra and he only prays that it is true; but he doesn't trust President Snow.

"Promise?" she says, her voice like that of a little child — afraid and alone.

"I won't ever leave you, Annie. I'll stay with you forever, or as long as I can," and he's never meant anything more in his life — this isn't just a promise; this is a contract and he will not break it. Annie is too important. "It's okay, Annie." He holds her.

She collapses into his arm like he is the strong one when exactly the opposite is true. He loses his footing, and somehow both of them break the waves again, and they are underwater. She relaxes after the momentary shock.

That exhilarating feeling that he gets whenever he is underwater never goes away — it is the one thing that the Capitol will never be able to take from him. _That_, and the feeling of Annie's fingers interlaced with his, of Annie's hands pulling him out of the water, of Annie's lips, on his.

The water wasn't that important anyway —

And it didn't matter that they'd find their fate tonight; it didn't matter that he was tainted because when she touched him, a little bit of her purity and her innocence went to him too; President Snow doesn't matter; the rebellion doesn't matter . . . nothing, absolutely nothing matters except for him and Annie, joined together at the lips.

And yes, he's kissed people before — he tries not to think about that; he's even kissed Annie before, both pre- and post-Games Annie, but this — _this_ is the first time that he's ever been _kissed_. It's almost like defying gravity because it feels like all his nerve endings are sizzling and crackling with electricity and he can taste the sea on her tongue and it's magical, which is funny because he doesn't believe in fairy tales, not anymore.

For once, he finally understands what his parents were talking about when they mentioned true loves and forevers and infinities and eternities. Sure, their world may be shattered in a few hours' time, but they'd cross that bridge when they came to it — this was _now_, and they were not letting go.

"I wonder what I did to deserve you," Annie murmurs into the soft skin of his neck. "I am so mad and damaged . . . you really are a saint for putting up with me, Finnick Odair."

And it's funny because to him, it's the other way around — Annie is his saint and he is the damaged one. He grabs her hand and neither ever wants to let go.

x

**fin**.

* * *

**author's note ii:** Please don't favourite or alert without leaving a review, thanks.


End file.
